Last night I met a man whose life was exactly as he’d envisioned it as a sixth grader. He was a doctor, a former professional football player, and a well-respected, RSC-trained actor. When he worked, it was because he wanted to, not because he needed to. And for 75, he was humpalicious.
Then I woke up.
How many people’s lives have really turned out like they thought? I mean, when you daydreamt back in Mrs. Monahan’s handwriting class, what did you think you were going to be thirty years down the line? A lawyer? A baseball hero? A binge-drinking, chain-smoking whore? If you’re anything like me, the current version of You is light years away from the first draft.
Or so I thought. Then I began sifting through dim recollections of my single-digit years, and I gotta say, in some cases, my daydreams weren’t too far off the mark. Here’s a representative sample of my pre-teen visions of life after 21. They’re in chronological order, rated on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the most accurate:
1.When I grow up I’ll be a girl. >>> [5]
Yeah, it’s a little-known fact, but as a young ‘un–around five or so–I really wanted to be a girl when I got older. I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe it was all that “you can be anything you want to be”, 1970s-era, feel-good, egalitarian crap. Or maybe a case of gender dysphoria. Whatever. I pictured myself running around with the girls in my class, kissing boys and doing all the things that girls do. In my vision, I was wearing a blue and white gingham dress–which, now that I think about it, was remarkably similar to the one worn by Judy You-Know-Who in The Wizard of You-Know-What. Damn I’m gay.
Almost thirty years later, I’m happy to report that despite biological barriers, I did manage to grow up and run around in gingham dresses, doing all the things that girls do (except menstruating, treating yeast infections, and worrying about vaginal dryness). I was also employed at America’s favorite drag-themed restaurant. And I manage to kiss the occasional boy, too. Not so far off the mark after all…
2. When I grow up, I’ll be a writer. >>> [10]
The shabbily genteel elementary school I attended had an awesome librarian who fed me Newbery and Caldecott award winners until I puked. I loved to read–it was much better than trying to feign interest in football–so naturally I assumed I’d be a writer in my later years (i.e. around now).
Today, I’ve come to the realization that I’m no novelist–not by a longshot–but I can manage the 800-1000 word essay now and then. And let’s not forget those voluminous grant applications for which I’m so revered. And, well, I’m writing now, aren’t I?
3. When I grow up, I’ll be a teacher. >>> [8]
I tutored my buddy Kinney for a history exam back in fifth grade, and he aced it–he even got the bonus point. That single event proved to be the defining moment for the rest of my schooldays. From that point on, I was hooked; I was bound and determined to become a teacher.
Although I abandoned my Ph.D. program a couple of years back, I’m still an adjunct instructor at a local university, teaching kids about literature and critical reading and all that stuff. And I plan to go back to teaching full-time one day–when I can afford the cut in pay.
4. When I grow up, I’ll be a professional gymnast. >>> [0]
As a kid I loved gymnastics. I liked the grace, the skill, and somewhere in there, I liked the sight of Kurt Thomas in spandex. My parents let me enroll in a program at the Y, secretly hoping I’d become less clumsy as time wore on.
I did fairly well, but unfortunately, the cards were stacked against me: I was the only boy in the class, and as if the ribbings I got from my schoolmates and the girls in the class weren’t enough, the Y didn’t have any men’s equipment. I learned tumbling, vaulting, the balance beam (how humiliating), and trampoline (not even a real event!). Once I proved myself adept at baseball, I quickly moved on. Today, I still have my roundoff and a damn good one-handed cartweel, but that’s about it.
5. When I grow up, I’ll have a wife, two kids–a boy and a girl–and a beautiful house. >>> [9]
Today, I’ve got Jonno, our hounds–Kika (female) and Gaston (male)–and a house that will eventually be beautiful. Not bad, all-in-all.
How ’bout you?
sturtle [dot] com 